I think about language often. I have a hunch the seed was planted by watching an unhealthy amount of Star Trek: The Next Generation as a kid, but there’s really no way of knowing. My current environment is rich with information on languages and accents, and it’s gotten to the point where I nearly always hear accents, even if they’re the same as mine (tricky, since mine is a linguistic minefield), familiar enough that they should be invisible, or something I can’t place. It’s a source of jangling distraction, but interesting enough that I haven’t actively ignored it yet.

Most of my attention focuses on non-American accents, but since I can’t really ignore where I came from (and find it a little funny that I’m slightly better at identifying different flavo(u)rs of British than I am at parsing different flavo(u)rs of American Southern) my ears prick up when I hear or read about southern language. As a result, I enjoyed this article about the cultural battle a Southern columnist must fight against Yankee editors and readers with no sense of humo(u)r. You might too.

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